


And It Hurts Like Hell

by dontcryMasha



Category: Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Curses, F/M, Folklore, Nymphs & Dryads, Pagan Gods, Romance, Sad, The Dark Project, pre-dark project, thief original series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:56:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcryMasha/pseuds/dontcryMasha
Summary: Despite the courage in her heart, Viktoria came from a difficult beginning. Maybe that's why, even after what she did to him, she came running to Garrett in her hour of desperate need--Garrett, too, knew the pain of a broken past.





	1. Roots

   
It began in a Pagan village near Bohn. In those days, The City was just beginning but Bohn was on the rise. Technology was booming and the advent of indoor plumbing was pulling people from the woods in droves, leaving only the most devout Pagans still reliant solely upon the land. They had high hopes of their god, The Trickster, returning in time to stop the “out of control” industrial revolution.  
This particular village, Woodbyrne, was close enough to the city as to feel the true burn of development. Wood was being cut from the edge of their forest at such a constant rate that the sounds of men and axes grew closer every day.  
“These evil manfools,” they would say. “Burnses they so much wood for their metal fires. Haves they no concepts of what they use!”  
At one end of the village, furthest in from the path of destruction set forth by the people of Bohn, there was a single hut of grass. There lived a childless couple, and with no prospects of continuing their line, they feared not the technological revolution.  
“Gones we befores the city comesies here,” said the husband, Greentree. His wife, Honeyfern, was in complete agreement but she spoke up little since the general pain of childlessness was a terrible burden upon her. While the men hunted, she had to watch as her peers fed and washed their children, taught them the ways of the woods and showed them how to fend for nature, all the while Honeyfern sat alone and waited for Greentree to return with just enough food for the two.  
“Was not my faults!” a little boy cried out from across the stream. Honeyfern was stooped at the water to do the washing. This boy was named Foxhorn and he was almost eight years old. His face was bright red and tears ran down his cheeks. A small, dirty finger pointed to a patch of peppers, wilted in an unusual manner.  
“Saids me to waters them!” His mother scolded, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him inside their hut. “You hurtsies the green leaves, Woodsie Lord never comes now!”  
The boy wailed from within, likely as his mother beat him. Honeyfern rung out a tunic for Greentree and sighed to herself. Had she children, she would not beat them, even if they had failed to tend the plants. Those peppers, however, did not look dead from under-watering.  
   
The following few days, everyone noticed their crops wilting in the same way as Foxhorn’s peppers. The leaves would grey, curl up and dry out. With good reason, the village was thrown into pandemonium.  
“Why does the Tricksy one do this to us?!”  
“Haves we hurtsies him?”  
“No!”  
One voice erupted through the panic. It was Greentree.  
“We has done no wrongses,” he said. “Times of all, me and Honeyfern thinks that the city manfools will takeses years to hurt us, but thinks me they are behinds this!”  
The Pagans were visibly shaken. Foxhorn rubbed a bruise on his arm and frowned, looking towards the remains of his peppers.  
“Makes you no sense,” said another male. “How can you change the minds so quickly?”  
There came yet another sudden interruption, this of a gentler kind; a seed rattle which belonged to the village Shaman, Twilightmoon. She was beyond old by Pagan standards and rarely made appearances. Most of her time was spent in her stone hut, placed a ways beyond the village. She would scrye into stones, study the stars, burn herbs and of course kept track of which sorts of sacrifices were due. Most of her declarations, warnings and material transactions were done by her apprentice, Silverfoot, who would take Twilightmoon’s place when she inevitably passed.  
But the Shaman’s appearance was quite timely. An issue such as plant life dying most certainly warranted her address. Silverfoot, young and thin with light hair in an efficient bun atop her head, stood by Twilightmoon to held keep the old woman balanced.  
“Says Greentree the truth,” she croaked, heavily wrinkled eyes hidden beneath a cloak. Only her mouth and knobby hands could be seen, moving slowly with her words. “Hammer fools rots our green grass, poisons our dirts. Mold. A plague.”  
“What can wes to do?” a young woman asked.  
“Sees me no actions,” said Twilightmoon, “But sees me the grass healings.”  
That was all the Shaman said before she turned and left with Silverfoot, giving the Pagans plenty of time to wonder how that could be possible. A few of them looked at Greentree as if it were his fault, but Honeyfern found that to be a useless waste of emotion.  
“Hates them for we helps not our village,” she said angrily once they were in the seclusion of their hut. Greentree sat down on their primitive bed and peeled off his shirt. “Hates them for bad reasons.”  
“Relax you, my loves,” said Greentree.  
“Oh, why are we seedless?” Honeyfern sighed bitterly.  
“Has we no children for reasons, I’m sure. Comes you now, to bed.”  
Reluctantly, Honeyfern sat beside her husband and rested her head upon his shoulder.  
“Hears you the Shaman’s good word. Grasses will healings and we to eat the sweet foods again. Worries not. Sleep us now, my loves.”  
   
Honeyfern was terribly sad the next day. She had difficulties getting started on her chores, seeing little purpose to taking care of just the two of them. There was also mild hostility with the rest of the villages for reasons she found completely ridiculous, so she decided to continue her clothes washing further down the stream, near the tall grasses. They, too, were starting to wilt. She knelt beside them a touched a few graying blades with gentle, sad fingers.  
“Sees she the grass healings,” she whispered to the plant, in the hopes that it would at least give slight encouragement. Unexpectedly, the grass spoke back! There came a small whimper within.  
“Says you whats?!” Honeyfern gasped, moving backward slightly from shock.  
“Neehh!” it cried once more.  
It did not sound human yet it had enough of a voice to be animal. Slow and careful, Honeyfern separated the grass and peered through. There, crawling amongst the shrubbery toward her, was a little, pale green baby. She had a tiny tuft of light hair on her head and deep green eyes that gazed at Honeyfern with amazement.  
“By the Leafsie One!” the woman gasped. A smile grew on her face. “How dids a baby come here?”  
She reached out and picked up the infant, who happily took to her.  
“Ah, but this skins…no humans, you are.”  
Delighted to be holding a child, human or not, hers or not, she smiled brightly and returned to the village. This of course got the immediate attention of everyone.  
“Finds you a baby?!”  
“Looksies, the skin! What greens is that?”  
Honeyfern’s smile grew and grew. The baby was pleased as well.  
“Finds me this baby in the grass.”  
“A child of the green grasses!” a woman cooed. “A gift from the Woodsie One! Honeyfern, he blesses you with a baby!”  
And that was how Honeyfern and Greentree became parents. It took some time to accustom themselves with raising the child, especially since she was not ordinary in anyway. The child would crawl around with a kind smile, wide green eyes gazing upon everyone and everything with great love.  
As she made her way around the village center, she caught sight of Foxhorn’s collapsed peppers. The baby pushed herself enough that she could stand, and to everyone’s amazement, walked straight to the plant and began gesturing ornately. A bright glow came from the base of the brittle stem, as did a similar light surround her hands, and the plant instantly came back to life.  
“The green grasses comes back!”  
   
They called the baby Little Oak. Once Twilightmoon heard of her appearance, she said that Little Oak was a dryad, or forest spirit from the trees and not the grass. Her origin was unknown to Twilightmoon, but purpose obvious. Soon, all of the greenery in their village was restored if not better. Little Oak loved to tend the plants, and as she grew, so did the plant life in the village.  
Little Oak grew faster than a human. By the time she was ten years old, she was already taller than the rest of the villagers and had a body that was taking a curvaceous form. Her skin, once a tender light green, slowly grew deeper and thickened like a delicate bark. Her light hair grew out dark and straight, lightweight and easy to care for. Her voice was sweet and she loved all of the villagers, especially Greentree and Honeyfern. They loved Little Oak more than life itself. There was no better blessing in the world. They raised her to be strong, caring, and incredibly fearless.  
She would walk out into the stream, leaping from rock to rock like a frog. Courage was her strongest virtue. No height of tree, no predator nor harsh weather frightened her. Often times she begged to see Bohn, but nobody let her go that far. They said it was unsafe. It was not a place for her kind. And that was alright, for she decided it was best if she stayed anyway. She saw herself as a guardian of the village, as did the Pagans. Even Twilightmoon knelt before her the best she could. Little Oak was, after all, a spirit of nature and though she was not their god, she was more powerful and pure than they were. Nobody knew how old dryads lived, but they wanted Little Oak to be their protector forever.  
   
Things did not remain so. One night, there came a heavy presence into the village. The Pagans all awoke at the deep sounds and looked through their doors, their windows at a mysterious figure that passed through between the houses. His feet were as horses, hooves striking loudly. A long, scaled tail was dragged behind him. Most knew what he was, but none uttered the name as they questioned their sanity, only soft whispers of indeterminate words. The air in the village had grown thick and earthy, like a peat bog.  
“Where bes my dryad?” a deep, growling voice came from the figure. “WHERE BES MY DRYAD?”  
Little Oak, who was anything but timid, came forth from Greentree and Honeyfern’s house, standing proudly before the shadowy figure. He eyed her wild green eyes, her woody flesh and supple curves.  
“Ah, there you bes,” he said, kneeling down near the little green nymph. This creature’s face was almost human with deep set lines and horns upon his head, stern eyes that possibly tried to look kind. “Knows you who I am, my child?”  
“Bes you must the Woodsie Lord,” she said, smirking.  
“Then this village has raised you wells. Time to leave.”  
“...what?”  
Little Oak’s face fell blank. She looked back at the house a few times. Greentree and Honeyfern poked their heads out.  
“Time to leave,” the Trickster repeated. “I brings you to life when this village neededs your help. Nows, the evil city to the south no longer poisons the grounds. Your times here is gone. Now, you are to serves me in my Woodsie land!”  
Little Oak was less than pleased. She knew nothing but her people in the village and the love of her adoptive parents. But when she looked back to them, sad as they may be, they gestured for her to go ahead.  
“Says you your goodbyes,” the Trickster said, pointing to the couple. “Brings you back heres never again.”  
Little Oak, holding back tears of sap, ran to the house and flung her arms around Honeyfern. “I don’t wants to leaves you!”  
“But understands we,” Honeyfern said calmly, patting the dryad’s back. “He is our god. You are ofs the trees. This is not a place for you to liveses your green leaf life.”  
Little Oak looked to Greentree, who nodded in agreement.  
“Misses you of course,” he said, “But happies will you be. And always loves you us.”  
“Always loves you us,” Honeyfern repeated.  
“Always loves me you,” said Little Oak. She gave one last embrace before leaving with the Trickster, never to see the village or her parents again.  
 


	2. Index

   
“I don’t want to.”  
“Garrett, for the last time, you have to.”  
“I hate it.”  
“You have to go.”  
“I really don’t want to.”  
“Need I remind you--again--that I am going easy on you? The Elders have specifically requested that I reprimand you the proper way, but I have insisted on an exception.”  
“Lucky me.”  
“This is ridiculous. Come to your training immediately.”  
For a sixteen year old Garrett, nothing was worse than Keeper training. He never even asked to be brought into the order, they forced him, and he couldn’t leave until he was of age. Even then, it would be risky.  
For Keeper Artemus, dealing with Garrett was a waking nightmare. He hated studying, he hated training, he hated talking to the Keepers and he made light of anything serious they discussed. Garrett was truly fortunate that Artemus did take a liking to him, or else he’d be facing the Elders on a regular basis. If it hadn’t been for the prophecies, the Keepers would have nothing to do with the man. Believe me.  
“Why must you fight me on this every single time?” Keeper Artemus begged. “You have been brought into an ancient society that is unknown to nearly all. Is it possible to show an ounce of respect?”  
“No.”  
“Oh, Garrett. Why? Why must you be like this?”  
“Well, let’s see.”  
The teen, who had been insistent on staying in bed, finally sat up and put his chin in his hand, pretending to be thinking hard.   
“You don’t let me leave. You force me to study. I can’t steal--I also can’t even HAVE money. I don’t have a single friend and, oh yeah...I’m sixteen and never even TOUCHED a woman, save for pick pocketing them back when I was allowed to support myself.”  
Artemus gave a heavy sigh and adjusted his glasses. “Hopeless,” he whispered. “Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. Please attend training today…”

As the man turned and left, Garrett rolled his eyes. Once the door was closed, he hopped out of bed and ran to his window. It was his only glimpse of The City; the place he always assumed from a young age to eventually be eating out of the palm of his hand. That was the aspiration. When he was a little orphan, he recognized that he had a particular talent in thieving. His dream was to hone his skills so well that he would live comfortably off of the rich, all the while leaving them in terrifying mystery when the master thief would strike again.  
But all of that was gone now. The Keepers found him and made him join their “stupid little cult” as Garrett so affectionately dubbed it as of late. They didn’t give any reason other than his ability going to waste without them.

Today, Garrett was going to put the plan he had been working on for quite some time into action.   
"The Keepers think they’re so slick," he thought to himself as he went to the bottom drawer of his dresser and pulled something from underneath it. He had been carving a set of lock picks out of scraps of metal he found leftover from the plumbing installation. They were finally ready, he thought.  
Since he wasn’t allowed to leave the compound, all of the windows and doors to the outside were locked, not just for keys but also with Glyphs. Now, Garrett had been studying these, too, and when the Keepers weren’t looking, a second part of his plan developed, for under that same drawer he had stuffed a sheet of papyrus.   
The dangerous part about training Garrett to be a Keeper was the risk of that highly intelligent brain learning all of the tricks but not adhering to the rules. This was a huge concern among the group, which led to the pressure from the Elders on Keeper Artemus to reprimand the boy according to the rules.   
"Oh, you trusting taffers!" Garrett laughed in his head as he spread out that papyrus and read over the Glyphs. He knew enough by now to translate most of them, and this piece had been pulled from a book he wasn’t supposed to have access to. Being unable to explore The City, Garrett had to occupy his time with challenges like sneaking into all the sections of the compound that were forbidden to novices. He hardly ever got caught.  
Before unlocking the manual key, Garrett had to remove the Glyphs, but before he worked the window he had to seal his own door. This was easy. First grade. Simple, simple Glyph work. A quick line of tiny, glowing Glyphs along the bottom of his door and nobody could open it up. Now onto the window.  
Using his handy guide, he pressed his hand to the glass and began moving his fingers in a symbolic pattern. The first attempt failed, but the second had better luck. A blue glow surrounding his finger and soon the shape he wanted was being written onto the glass, glowing just like the casting digit. A smirk grew on Garrett’s face as the Glyphs that bound the window, which sat ever-glowing along the sill, faded away. He picked the lock and was finally able to open that window.  
He first stuck his head out and took a deep breath of air. Fresh air! Well, as fresh as The City could be, which ultimately smelled like sewage and air pollution but at least it was better than the musty, stale odor of age-old books.   
Looking out over the jagged skyline of houses, smokestacks and the occasional red glow of a stained glass Hammer, Garrett was pleased with his success. Now he just had to get the rope he had been working on, secure it to the sill and--  
“Garrett!”  
Artemus came busting into the room, causing Garrett to go pale in the face. How could he have gotten through the Glyph charm so easily? Garrett counted on hearing the doorknob jostle first.  
“What--are--you--doing?!”  
Garrett slammed the window shut. “Just getting some air,” he said quickly.  
“That does it. I have no choice but to send you to the Elders for punishment.”  
   
Garrett had been in the hall of trials before, but it was years ago, when he was being inducted into the “stupid little cult” and he had few memories of it. The room was a large rotunda, and like most spaces in the Keeper compound, it was incredibly dark, masked by heavy shadows to hide their secrets. The Keepers were a group of mysterious people. They moved about unseen. Everything they did had to follow that direction, always in a state of acclimation to their fate.  
The center of the room was empty tile, but the second row up was a ring around the rotunda that had all of the Keepers sitting, gazing down upon Garrett with stern faces beneath their cloaks. The next row up was just three chairs--the Elders.  
Artemus followed behind Garrett as they passed into the hall of trials, immediately met with the center Elder’s loud voice.  
“Novice! What a fool you are! What sort of incapable children do you think us to be? Did it not occur to you that we keep track of every Glyphic charm, every window, every space around the compound?”  
Garrett, who should have been feeling fear or at least shame, shrugged. “Guess I didn’t think that through.”  
“How dare you test us like this!” The first Elder yelled. “This is completely unacceptable. Keeper Artemus, you are partially to blame. Had you not brought him to us over his smaller errors, he would know fear better now.”  
Artemus gave a small bow. “I’m sorry, my Elders. What would you have us do to him?”  
The Elder put his hand over his face, sighing stiffly, all the while Garrett was rather passive.  
“You could kick me out,” he said. All three of the Elders moved uncomfortably. One that had not spoken gave a small sound of disgust.  
“The most disrespectful person I have ever known,” they groaned.   
“Well, now,” the third and final Elder said. “Perhaps we should not be so hard on him. After all, he’s a mere boy who longs to be in the world. This is no easy task for a child. Maybe if we gave him small liberties to leave the compound he would--”  
The first Elder had to interrupt here. Garrett smirked at the tension between the three.  
“You can’t possibly be serious?” They hissed. “To suggest that he leave, why that’s--that’s mad!”  
They looked down to Artemus, who was at a loss for words, and motioned to one of the doors along the side wall.  
“Meet us in the back. We must discuss.”  
The three left their posts and met Artemus in a small room off to the side. The first Elder was practically steaming.  
“We cannot let the novice leave, that’s ridiculous. You know what he will do!”  
“Thieve, for sure,” said the third Elder, “But maybe he needs his space. What say you, Artemus?”  
“I...would rather not have a voice in this discussion. I am no Elder.”  
“Yes,” the first one said, calming only slightly, “But you are closer to Garrett than any of us. You know his behavior better. You can’t agree with this suggestion, can you? To let him leave? Give him space to do as he wishes? Who is to say he doesn’t talk about the Keepers? We can't tell him that it's a lie, we are 'watching every space around the compound'. He would find out in no time."  
Artemus sighed. “No, I do not agree with that idea.”  
“Thank you.”  
“However, I will say this; the risk of Garrett telling others about us is minimal. Though he longs to leave the compound and ‘make friends,’ he is a terribly unsocial person. I don’t see anyone liking him. His manners are poor and he thinks only of himself. If he were to be in a crowded pub, I’m positive he would feel insecure and frightened. His place is here, hiding amongst the shadows, he just doesn’t know it yet. Remove his arrogance and he shall be the perfect Keeper.”  
“I don’t know about that,” said the first Elder, “And I still stand to keep him here.”  
“Maybe,” now the second Elder spoke up, “We should tell him his purpose?”  
The other three Keepers were able to agree instantaneously.   
“No.”  
“Could it hurt so much?” the second asked.  
“Yes, of course,” said Artemus. “As we always say, we do not intervene. We only do as the scriptures tell us, and nowhere in these writings does it say we must tell him. The more he knows, the more likely he is to disobey. After all, we know he will leave once he is of age...he can't know about that, or he'll go now. We know his greed will lead him to revive the Trickster. We know he will also find the courage to destroy the beast.”  
“If only it has been said yet what happens next,” the third Elder sighed. They folded their arms and began to walk slowly, thinking. “If only we know what happens after the Trickster is dead. If only we could see that part yet. If only, if only…”  
“Yes but there are more pressing matters at the moment,” the first Elder snapped. “We can’t let Garrett continue the way he does. He must attend training and he must have more security. One slip up and he will be gone. Once he leaves, he won’t be back. Then it will be too soon and the scriptures will be wrong, which has not happened since Karath-Din.”  
A cold stillness shook the room momentarily as all held their breath, thinking of the lost city and the disaster which befell it. Artemus cleared his throat. The first Elder sighed.  
“More eyes on him,” they said. “More eyes on him and more restrictions. He must not be left alone at any time. Are we in agreement?”  
Artemus and the second Elder agreed, but the third was apprehensive. “No consideration for my thoughts?”  
“No,” the three said.  
“Very well, then I agree. More eyes, more restriction. No isolation.”  
The four nodded and turned to leave, but the door Artemus came through suddenly opened. Another Keeper came through, eyes wide, face pale.  
“Garrett left!” she yelled.   
“What?”  
“We did all we could to stop him, but he used a Glyph to restrict ours!”  
Artemus ran passed the female Keeper and into the rotunda, which was all a-babble with the circle of Keepers standing up, talking with importance.   
“Where did he go?!” Artemus yelled, his voice echoing throughout.  
“We don’t know,” said the female.   
The first Elder stormed out and into the rotunda. “Find him, NOW!”

   
“Finally,” Garrett sighed. He had dropped his rope out the bedroom window and scaled down the side of the compound. A quick dash through the labyrinthine buildings which hid the Keeper’s secret and he was out into The City. It was evening, the sun was nearly down and the glow orbs were starting to buzz. Garrett pulled his hood up and covered most of his face, eyes darting around the streets quickly. It had been too long. He had to make up for lost time.  
Now that he had been enduring Keeper training, his thieving skills were well on their way to being honed to perfection. Everyone walking about The City was an easy target compared to sneaking around the Keeper compound. He picked pockets like second nature. It didn’t take long for him to really clean up.  
“I missed this,” he said to himself, slipping down into an alleyway to see what was inside the third coin purse he knicked. Just a few silvers. Not bad, but what would he do with the money? The thought of stowing it away in his Keeper bedroom was nice--a little hoard to remind him what was out there once he became of age and hopefully left. But surely he could also spend it. Since the Keepers fed him, he didn’t have to blow all the lifted cash on food. That was a first. When he was young and inexperienced, his loot would go to eating and staying alive. Now, it was different.  
He crept down the alleyway and followed a series of paths that wrapped around buildings. He snuck around tight corners, always staying out of sight. The city watch never slept but they were also clumsy and careless. He learned that right away when he was a child.  
Soon, Garrett found himself in a curious hideaway with several small, beat-up buildings. Each one had a red hand print painted on the door. Lights were on inside and many shady looking people were scurrying about. Curiosity got the best of him and he went inside one with a sign over top that read, “Farkus Functionals.”  
The place was crowded, just a little store with all sorts of neat gadgets on the walls. Hooded folks were handing over good money for tools, weapons, maps, all the while they spoke quietly--this was a black market for sure. The shop keep, who Garrett assumed was Farkus, was the only loud voice.  
“Alright, four gold, ‘ere ya go. Fanks much! Very kind, alright, alright!”  
Business was moving quickly and the line did not last long. People kept bumping into Garrett, speaking no apologies or even making eye contact. He kept getting pushed aside, which put him on the defensive. When he realized everyone in there had a sword, a dagger, a bow, some sort of weapon, he realized just how inexperienced and unprotected he was.    
Soon, the crowd cleared out and he was the only one left, except for Farkus. He was probably around thirty, balding and with a sturdy build. He looked at Garrett with a strange expression.  
“Bit young, aren’t ya?” he asked.  
“I guess so.”  
“What brings a fella like you into a place like this? You know where you are, lad?”  
“I...guess so?”  
Garrett was still anxious from the crowd. He held his stolen coins close to his chest, fearing that anybody at any time could take it.  
“What’cha got there, son?”  
“Just some money.”  
“What can I get ya? What sorta plans you got goin’ on?”  
“I uh…”  
Talking to the Keepers was easy. Talking to strangers in the real world...not so simple.  
“Alright, not much of a talker, no worries, most of ‘em aren’t. Let’s see,” Farkus said, looking Garrett up and down. “You’ve got a strange get up on. Never seen noffin’ like that before. Real young, too. Real young. Now don’t take this the wrong way, son, but you look like an inexperienced thief.”  
Inexperienced? Maybe, but only because he had not stolen much in the last six years.  
“I guess,” was all Garrett could say. He was relaxing only a bit.  
“I don’t see no weapons on ya. Any chance you’ve got enough there for a sword?”  
Farkus pointed to the wall behind him, which was lined with beautiful blades. Garrett saw the price tags stuck beneath them and shook his head, frowning.  
“Bow?”  
Again, he shook his head.  
“Dagger?”  
“Ah.”  
Finally, something in his price range. Handy, too. Farkus placed several short blades out on his desk. “Pick your poison,” he said. “Which reminds me--poison?” He showed Garrett a couple of dark vials. He wasn’t quite ready for that, was he?  
Garrett’s eyes fell on one of the daggers. It was gorgeous. A dark blade with a handle carved from an antler, smooth and stained black. Unless the beast it was from had charcoal colored horns. A language he didn’t recognize was etched on the thin hilt.  
“This,” he said slowly, mesmerized by the weapon’s beauty.  
“You got enough for that, but not a sword?”  
Farkus was right. That dagger was just as expensive as the swords. Garrett took the purses he had knicked and dumped out all of the coinage onto Farkus’ counter. He hadn’t tallied the total up yet and only assumed those weapons were out of his budget. Maybe he also knew that a full length sword would never make it back into the Keeper compound. He was just a few bronze short of the dagger.  
“Damn,” Garrett cursed beneath his breath.  
“'Ey, look,” said Farkus. “You’re young, clearly fresh at this. A beau'iful dagger like this would make one hell of a first weapon, don’cha fink?”  
“Well, yeah, but--”  
“I’ll cut’cha a deal, right?” Farkus said, leaning over the counter. His fat hand covered the coins. “Since it’s you’re first time, I’ll give you a discount, but on one condition; I wanna see you back 'ere for your next job.”  
Garrett nodded slowly, knowing that he likely wouldn't be back. Who knows what he was up against when he came back to the compound. Either way, it was a generous offer, and Garrett realized that. It also occurred to him that his young face and lack of tools made more experienced thieves soft.   
Farkus took half of the coins, which meant he gave Garrett an insane discount, especially on such an incredible blade. Maybe spending money was just as exciting as stealing it. Garrett turned the dagger over in his hand, feeling the surprising weight. The dark colors would make it perfect for hiding in the shadows.  
“I’ll be back.”  
 


	3. Back

“‘Ey, look ‘o it is! I was starting to fink you wouldn’t make it back. What ‘appened?”

Garrett stood in the threshold of Farkus Functionals for the first time in two years. He hadn’t returned since he bought the dagger. But now, he was finally free from the Keepers. It was a difficult break away, but since he was technically of age, they could not stop him.

“Some trouble. That’s all.”

“Well I’m glad to see ya, son. ‘Ows business?”

Garrett took a few steps up to the counter. The night was young and no other customers were in the shop. 

“Like I said, some trouble. Now…” He looked down at his hands. “Now I need some help.”

“Wif what?”

“Everything. Maybe you can help me out.”

“Glad to do anyfing I can. Where do we start?”

Garrett took a deep breath and let it blow out of his nose slowly, feigning worry. 

“You know, I tried to make a living. Had some setbacks. I’m actually not from around here and when I first came, I just happened to be in the area.”

“Uh huh.”

“Now I’m stuck here, out of leads, nowhere to live.”

Farkus’ mouth opened wide. “No kiddin’? That much bad luck? Well, shit! Farkus’ll take care of ya!”

“Really?” Asked Garrett, making his face look as grateful as possible.

“Sure. ‘Ere...I’ll put’cha up in a room, but I’m gonna charge ya rent. ‘Owever, I’m giving ya the name of a great fence. Always lookin’ for fellas to pull dangerous jobs for ‘im. You’re desperate, young, daring--bet you’d be more than ‘appy!”

“Absolutely.”

That sounded like the perfect challenge for young Garrett.

“Great! Now, this place ain’t pretty and I’m gonna charge ya a lot, but wif the money you’ll be makin’ off of the fence--Cutty’s ‘is name--it’ll be easy. Just gotta mind your wallet.”   
“Got it.”

“Cutty’s spot in a place called the Hot Fox. Bet you’ll find ‘im there soon. Good place to find bold fellas.”

“Got it.”

No thank-yous from Garrett. It accomplishes nothing, except possibly reinforcing the potential of feeling “indebted” to someone, which was the last thing he wanted.

 

The Hot Fox appeared to be a pub in the black market district, better known as Stonemarket. Garrett had never been to a pub before. When he was young and fended for himself, he wasn’t old enough to enter. So far it wasn’t on the top of his to-do list.

He pushed open the door and took a few cautious steps inside. The place was fairly busy with only the sound of a few people around the bar talking quietly. Aged red wallpaper looked pink now, framing a roaring fireplace that had several soft chairs in front of it. Tables cluttered the opposing wall. Next to the bar was a set of rickety stairs that went to the second floor. There was a faint hint of light coming from up there.

Garrett took a seat at the bar and looked at the other patrons sitting there. Which one was Cutty? He wondered what a fence would look like. Shady, mysterious, probably as dark and secretive as the thieves working for him.

But the men sitting at the bar were all fairly pleasant looking. No cloaks hid their faces, not well worn clothes that told horrific tales. Just smiles, drinks and pleasantries. 

“Sir?”

Garrett turned his attention to the barmaid, who was a perky young thing in a tight corset. His eyes fell to her ample chest.

“Staring’s free but any touch is gonna cost ya!” she said. Garrett laughed. Snarky humor. Very nice. “What’ll it be?”

“Just...whatever house ale you have.”

“Right up.”

He watched her curvaceous figure turn around, snatch up a mug and fill it at a barrel along the back wall. She bent over unnecessarily as she did this. Garrett, still a virgin and hardly experienced in talking to women, squeezed his thighs together and tried to look away. A man sat down right beside him and laughed.

“Staring’s free but it’ll cost to touch!” He bellowed in a low, gravelly voice.

“Eh?”

Garrett turned quickly to the man. 

“I said staring’s free but it costs to touch.”

The barmaid came back to Garrett’s side and handed him the mug of frothy ale. “Two bronze,” she said. Garrett grumbled in his head and handed her two small coins. “Thanks, love.” She saw the new patron and grinned. “Mr. Cutty! I was wondering when you would show up.”

Mr. Cutty!

“Got caught up for a bit, Anna,” he said, situating himself a bit more comfortably. “The usual.”

“Right up!”

Garrett took a sip of his drink and eyed Cutty over the top of the head. When the fence caught on, he stared back.

“Something I can help you with?”

“You’re Cutty?” Garrett asked.

“That’s right. Why?”

“Farkus sent me here. He says you can help me get work.”

A big grin grew on Cutty’s face. He was missing a few teeth, not terribly unusual for someone in their 30s, but surprising nonetheless. 

“Young thief, eh?” 

“That’s right.”

“Sure. I’ve got some jobs in need of getting done.”

Anna brought Cutty his drink and he gave her a generous amount of bronze in exchange. She winked at him then went about talking to other patrons idly. 

“Not too often I get thieves willing to do the particularly risky jobs.”

“I will.”

“Hah. You seem so nonchalant about it, I don’t believe you.”

Garrett sipped his drink again. He looked Cutty directly in the eyes. “I’ll prove it to you. I’m skilled beyond my age.”

“Uh huh? I have to see this to believe it. Alright, I accept your challenge. Here.”

Cutty took a roll of parchment from the inside of his coat and placed it on the counter in front of the young thief. 

“This’s info on a Hammerite chapel in the north. Been having trouble getting anyone to go. Hammers, y’know. They’re skilled.”

“I can do it. What do you want?”

Cutty pursed his lips together, raising his eyebrows at the same time. “Such confidence. You’re bold.”

“What do you want?” Garrett repeated, a little more intense now.

“Heh. Okay. Pushy. I get it. I’m looking for a book. It doesn’t have any value, but you’re free to loot the chapel, so long as I get half of your finds.”

“Done.”

“The book will be in the high priest’s quarters with a bunch of others. It’ll be hard to find, especially with the high priest running about. They use magic, y’know.”

“Done,” said Garrett, remaining so calm and cool that it was nearly suspicious. “You got yourself a deal.” Cutty raised an eyebrow. 

“Sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m ready.”

They shook hands. “I hope you’re everything you say you are.”

A woman came down the stairs now, each step creaking as she descended. Her figure was pinched in by a corset which appeared even tighter than Anna’s, or perhaps she was just better endowed and showed it more. When she saw Cutty, her bright eyes opened wide and she waved enthusiastically.

“Mr. Cutty!” She said, hopping over to him. Garrett stared at her.

“Evening, Ms. Cherry. I got myself a new thief...What’s your name again?”

“Garrett.”

“Garrett, meet Ms. Cherry.”

“Oh, hiiii Mr. Garrett. Aren’t you young!”

She leaned close to Garrett’s face, smirking. The thief turned red in the face at her boldness. Her slender hand found its way to Garrett’s thigh, squeezing gently.

“Ms. Cherry will take great care of you,” said Cutty. “Care for a go?”

“Wait, what?”

Garrett, who was starting to break out in a cold sweat, tried to swallow a lump in his throat and divert his eyes from the sumptuous chest pouring out at him. Ms. Cherry smiled more, leaning closer so that they were only a few inches apart.

“How much do you have on you, honey?”

“How much what?” Garrett asked.

Ms. Cherry giggled. “Money, silly.”

“For what?”

“Oh, depends what you want. Ten for a blow, twenty for the regular, thirty for anal--no, make it twenty five for you.” Her hand rubbed closer to Garrett’s inner thigh, causing him to pull them both closer together. He thought he might pass out from the blood leaving his head. “I bet you’re hung.”

This wasn’t a pub.

It was a place to pay for sex.

Garrett could pay for sex.

He did not know that.

“I have to go prepare for this job,” he said suddenly, pushing Ms. Cherry’s hand away. “Sorry. I’ll meet you here when I’m done, Cutty. I will have the book.”

 


	4. Relations

“Comes you this way, Little Oak.”

The Trickster was walking through a great wood in the early morning, fog parting with each of his might hooves hitting the ground. Just a wisp of a woman, Little Oak followed suit. She was full grown now; a beautiful dryad of deep green bark and lovely brown hair. Her flirtatious eyes had full lashes and a haunting emerald that echoed her love of the forest.

“Spendsie us too much times in the woods,” the god said. “Many years, now. Many, many years. Now I hears this city, The City, grows to the east.”

“Another city?” Little Oak asked.

“Yes. Is bads for us, indeed.”

“What are wes to do, my Leafy One?”

The Trickster slowed until he walked no more, then looked over his shoulder slowly and extended his hand. The lizard tail that followed him moved slightly out of the way so as to let Little Wood get close to him. Her fingers entwined with his.

“Wes, my little acolyte, will lives in The City.”

“How? Is no place for woodsie ones.”

The Trickster smirked. “So you thinks. O, the powers you haves that you don’t even realize!”

“Powers?”

“Yes, Little Oak. So many powers…”   
He started to walk again, still holding the dryad’s hand. Now, the fog began to clear and the forest thinned. They stood upon a hill which overlooked The City. In all of Little Oak’s life, she had never seen the fortresses that man built. They were nothing more than rumors; rumors that she was forbidden to pursue. But now she saw the reality. She saw the buildings, smelled the chemicals. It boiled her sap-like blood.

“Those manfools!” She screamed, falling to her knees. “They mocks us! They destroys us! How? How is this goodsie?!”

“Yes, yes!” The Trickster cheered, as if taking such joy in Little Oak’s upset that it bordered the perverse. “Feels you the pain! Feels you the pain that the Hammerfools burdens us with!”

He knelt beside Little Oak and took both of her hands, staring into her deep green eyes. Yellow tears ran down her cheeks. “Do you knows what the Hammerfools have dones, now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“No, you do not. This, this CITY is but a mere glimpse of the what they do to us! Now, your Leafy One, your Woodsie Lord, I lose my powers to them!”

Little Oak gasped. “What? Lose you your powers?”

“Yes, my dryad. This bes the sad truth. As they cuts down our wood, as they poisions our grass, my strength fades...there is but one thing we can do.”

“What? What is it? I will dos it, anything!”

The Trickster leaned very close to Little Oak’s face. “Remembers you the stone I spoke of, The Eye?”

“Oh…”

Little Oak closed her eyes, thinking hard. Yes, it was coming back to her. The Trickster told her a story of when he still held complete dominion over the world. Everything was peaceful and the Pagans did not have Hammerites fear, but that changed as technology built up. The modernization grew and grew, and one of the Hammers stole the Trickster’s precious gem, The Eye.

“Withouts The Eye,” the Trickster said, “I will never beats the Hammers. But, if we ares to finds it, then all my powers of olds will return! This is enough to destroy all of the cities! All of the Hammers! All of the manfools!!”

Little Oak smiled. She squeezed his hands. “Then we will dos this.”

“It is not so simple, my dryad.”

The Trickster let go of her and stood up, looking at The City on the horizon. He furrowed his brow. “Use we our powers to look humans. First, sends you into The City to scout. Learns you the ways of the man fools. Learns you where The Eye is. Then, comes you back to the woodsie land, and we will devise our plans.”

“Yes, my Leafy One.”

 

* * *

 

 

H ammerites are skilled? Compared to the Keepers, the Order of the Hammer was about as slick as the city watch. Garrett made easy work of finding that book. In just three days, he was ready to get back to the Hot Fox and solidify his new fence. Of course, he also looted the chapel for a healthy sum, but clever Garrett knew better than to give Cutty half. After all, the fence had no idea how much Garrett would be able to steal.

The space that Farkus was renting to Garrett was little more than a glorified closet. It didn’t matter, though. One day, Garrett would have plenty of money to live well off of. For now, he just needed a bed. And that’s literally all he had. Not even a window to peep out of.

With the Hammerite’s book concealed beneath his cloak. Garrett left under cover of night to hunt Cutty down at the brothel. It was the first time he had gone there from the new place, and he was still getting his bearings in The City. Things had changed considerably since he was a child, even in such a short period of time. The industrial revolution was growing at an alarming speed.

The path he ended up taking went the long way around. He was further from Stonemarket than assumed. 

“Gotta get myself a map,” he thought to himself as his feet carried him through a small park. A few trees surrounded a well, and one glow orb gave slight visibility. Standing beneath the streetlamp-like pole was a young woman. She wore a long, thin dress that flowed in the gentle wind. Garrett slowed. He slipped behind the well and watched her. She was staring up at the glow orb motionless.

“Bes this of the Hammers?” she asked in a smooth, soft voice. Garrett looked around to see if anyone else was there, but she appeared to be alone.

Her bare feet started walking and he got a look at her face. Is was beautiful. So young, probably his age, with full dark lips and fair skin. She wore a distressed look.

“Why puts you trees here? Cuts you them down, tears you them up, and then...then plants you them?”

Again, Garrett looked around for a third person, but no one was there. Then, the young woman squat down on the ground and began to cry. 

“Impossible!” she sobbed. 

A feeling deep in Garrett’s gut made him want to help her, give a word of comfort, but he didn’t know what comforting words were. He felt the emotion but he did not know how to convey it. Instead, he watched like a helpless coward as she cried and cried.

“You Hammers,” she wept. “You Hammerfools!”

The word reminded him of the book he held close. Cutty would be impressed with how quickly he had worked, so Garrett needed to get a move on. Implementing all of his stealth skills, he snuck out from around the well and slipped away from the woman and the park, but she looked up.

“Who bes there?” she called out. Garrett froze. She stood up and walked right towards him, clearing her throat. “Who  _ is there _ ?”

He soundlessly held his breath and tried to step back very, very slowly into a darker shadow, but clearly this young lady could see him.

“Oh, it’s a man. Where...dids you come from?”

“I…”

She smiled. “Why do you hide from me? I look normal, right?”   
“Uh…”

“I think you aren’ts like the others. Manfools are loud, they destroy, they yell. But you, you move silent like a fox.”

“How…”

“I heards you because my ears hear everything.” She pointed to her ears and smiled. “Don’t you hide from me. Come out.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the light. Garrett was so surprised by this behavior that he did not react, he simply followed her tugging motion. Once they could see each other’s faces clearly, the lady paused. She gazed back at him, dark lips parting slowly.

“The face of a man,” she muttered.

“Well...yeah…”

Her cheeks grew slightly red, as did Garrett’s. 

“What do you dos so late at night like this?”

“None of your business,” he said, looking away. “Leave me alone.”

“Wait!”

Garrett ran away and the girl did not pursue him.

 

* * *

 

 

“I misjudged you, Garrett,” Cutty declared when he was given the Hammerite text. “And how much else did you swipe?”

A bag of silvers and a few tiny trinkets was handed over as well. Garrett plopped down onto the stool beside Cutty and gave a tired sigh.

“It was really difficult,” he lied. “I almost got caught a few times, so...I didn’t get a chance to steal much.”

“That’s okay, you did great, especially for someone your age. I’m impressed! Here’s your cut.”

Garrett took his pay with a snide grin, thinking about the better selection of loot he had stowed away under his bed.

“I’ll get another job for you soon,” Cutty promised. “I didn’t expect you to come back so soon, especially not with the task completed! I want to hold onto you, Garrett! Heheh.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“I think we’re building a valuable relationship here.”

“I agree.”

“Drinks on me.”

“Won’t turn that down.”

Anna behind the bar gave them two ales, which Garrett was happy to have. He needed to relax after that strange encounter at the park. Who spoke like that, anyway? He had to be more careful, too, because had that been dangerous he could have been in serious trouble. 

“Oh, Mr. Cutty!”

Ms. Cherry’s voice chirped from the top of the stairs. More creaks and she was at the bar right away. “And Mr. Garrett! What a surprise!”

“Hey,” said Cutty, “You fancy a go this time?”

Garrett looked at Ms. Cherry. Her cheeks were bright red, probably where she got that name from. She leaned up against Garrett and put her head on his shoulder. He flushed. He twitched. He wanted it, but...he didn’t exactly want to tell Cutty that he was a virgin. Looking at the payment in his gloved hand, he nodded to Cutty. Talking to women in the real world was way more terrifying than he had expected, but if he was going to pay for sex...well, it’d be much easier, wouldn’t it? That could take the edge off and he wouldn’t be so anxious. A whore wouldn’t care if his social skills weren’t up to par.

“Go for it,” said Cutty.

“Come on, Mr. Garrett! We’re gonna have fun!”

She went upstairs and motioned for Garrett to follow, which he did, albeit rather slow and timidly. They went to the second floor and took the first door into a little, crappy bedroom. Someone had tried hard to make it look good but it was still pretty worn out. A bed that had seen so many rolls in the hay that it didn’t know which direction to wear out was beneath a poorly curtained window. Garrett slowly stepped over to the bed and sat down, looking up at Ms. Cherry with nervous eyes.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Well uh, okay...don’t--don’t tell Cutty, but this is my first time.”

Ms. Cherry gasped. “No way? Oh, sweetheart, you don’t need to pay for sex like this. You should be out meeting some pretty little thing at the Downwind Thieves’ Guild!”

“No thanks,” said Garrett. 

“Whatever, money is money.”

Ms. Cherry gave a small shrug, then sat down in Garrett’s lap and put her arms around his shoulders. His pants firmed up in an instant. He didn’t know what to do.

“Oh, I knew it! I knew you were hung. Heheh.”

“R-right.”

Mr. Cherry rubbed herself right up against his crotch, gasping softly. “That’s nice, isn’t it?” Garrett didn’t answer. His face was bright red. He didn’t want to touch Ms. Cherry. It was so awkward, but it felt good.

“Do you like that?”

No answer. 

“You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to.”

Apparently, Ms. Cherry was picking up on Garrett’s poor social skills. She slid down to the floor and performed oral on the young man, which he quickly realized was AMAZING. He leaned back and enjoyed himself. 

Well, that was easy. He could pay for a good time like that and not have to worry about saying the wrong thing. In theory, he didn’t need a relationship. He could just get money and pay women to suck him off. 

 


	5. Then

 

 

Years were not kind to Garrett. Each one that passed, he grew increasingly bitter. He quickly discovered that real human interaction was not worth the effort. One wasted attempt at speaking cordially with a woman ended with a slap across the face, and he never tried it again. Instead, paying a whore to relieve pressure and sometimes provide close company overnight was enough to suffice. Other than that, his only connections were with fences, dealers, the occasional corrupt politician and unfortunately the Keepers (it seemed he would never be free from their unwanted counsel, but they continued to withhold their reasons even as the prophecy began to unfold).

Garrett was going to be 40 sooner than later, a thought which did little to calm his nerves. He knew that his body would catch up to him at some point and the thieving would have to stop. By now, his skill was remarkable. He had a name for himself and every nobleman in The City had trained his night watch on who to look out for. Garrett loved that thrill, but still recognized that his retirement would be soon. He needed one last great job to set him up for the rest of his life. Maybe he would move to Bohn. There, nobody knew his name. Nobody knew he was Garrett, Master Thief. He could just be another eccentric hermit with more money than he should be allowed to have.

Perhaps that job was soon. He had received a letter requesting to meet with a woman named Viktoria, who claimed to represent a client with interest in a nobleman’s prized sword. They arranged to meet at a shady pub in Stonemarket. Garrett didn’t worry about meeting with a woman since it was for business. He could always handle business interactions with confidence.

Right on time, Garrett arrived at the pub. It was almost closing time but not too near or else they would be alone. Moderate noise was always ideal for discussing jobs.

In the corner beneath a stained glass window sat a woman in a cloak of burgundy velvet. He knew it was her.

“Garrett?” the woman asked, turning her head to look at the man. 

“Yes.”

“Please, take a seat.”

Garrett sat across from the woman and put his hands on the small table between them. She let her hood drop, revealing a beautiful face with captivating dark eyes. She was extremely graced and carried herself with delicate poise. Thin fingers touched a gemstone ring on her hand.

“Thank you for meeting me here.”

“Sure. So what’s this job about again?”

“Perhaps you’ve heard of him, Constantine, a man who just recently moved into The City. He’s had a giant mansion built and, well, my client has their eyes on Constantine’s many unusual collections. The most important being a certain sword.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“I think you can handle it.”

“What kind of pay are we talking about?”

Viktoria smirked. “Extremely generous,” she said smoothly.

Garrett sat back in his chair and grinned, letting his hood fall. Viktoria’s expression changed. Her mouth opened just a little bit as she examined Garrett’s features. The memory of meeting that fair young lady in the park was so far away to Garrett that he had no recollection of it, but it was not so for Viktoria.

 

 

“He has agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Most excellent. I’m proud of you, Little Oak.”

Viktoria sat on the floor beside a great arm chair, which comfortable faced a roaring fireplace. She looked up at the man who occupied it and smiled proudly. “Remember, we go by our human names now.”

“Ah, yes. How easily I forget, Viktoria. Thank you for reminding me. Helpful as always.”

“I do my best for you, Constantine.”

She rested her head against the man’s leg and closed her eyes. 

“If this thief is as good as the rumors have it,” Constantine began, “Then his retrieval of the sword shall be child’s play. After that, we promise an offer he can’t refuse and we will get those talismans for us. And then…”

Viktoria opened her eyes again and looked up at the man. “The Eye,” she hummed happily. 

“And  _ then _ …”

“You return to your true form, and we eliminate these disastrous cities once and for all.”

Constantine’s hand pressed on the top of Viktoria’s head and pet her gently, smoothing back her dark hair. She closed her eyes like a kitten might, turning into his touch slightly. “A moment I cannot wait for.”

“Nor can I.”

Viktoria was happy to serve her god, but something nagged at her inside. How funny was it that Garrett happened to be that young man she met her first night in The City? She was afraid, lost, confused. The sounds of his feet on the grass were loud to her. She could almost see the noise in her mind. Then, his face in the light. He was so much younger than, so handsome and innocent. Now, dark lines creased his face and eternal restlessness plagued his eyes. She knew what would happen once he finally brought them The Eye. 

“What is important,” Constantine began suddenly, interrupting Viktoria’s train of thought, “Is that you do not get emotionally involved with this man.”

Viktoria opened her eyes wide. “What? Why would I?”

“Being human as long as we have to be sometimes gives us human desires. Let’s not do that, shall we?”

“I don’t like being human.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He grabbed a bunch of Viktoria’s hair and jerked it backwards, forcing her to look up at him. “Let’s not do that, shall we?” he repeated through tight teeth. Viktoria nodded very, very slowly.

 

 

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Garrett came into a pub he often frequented to find whores and get a cheap drink, but was surprised to see Viktoria sitting in the corner with her velvet cloak up. She startled upon hearing Garrett’s voice.

“Nor did I expect you,” she said softly. “Join me for a drink?”

Garrett stared at her for a moment. He blinked. She blinked. “Can’t hurt,” he said quickly, then sat down across from her. “So…”

“You have an incredible reputation,” said Viktoria. She smiled flirtatious but kept her hands close to her side. 

“I know.”

“You must be proud of your work.”

“I am.”

This was starting to make a dangerous shift from work to personal and Garrett did not like that. Viktoria wasn’t being paid to talk to him, or was she? Either way, she wasn’t like a prostitute. This was a real conversation with a genuine woman with opinions.

Viktoria smirked. “Are you going to order me a drink or not?”

“What?” Garrett narrowed his eyes at her. “You don’t have any money?”

Taken aback by his apparent selfishness, Viktoria sneered. “Fine, then. Don’t worry about it. I’m simply helping you make a generous living.”

“You’re right,” Garrett agreed stiffly. “What do you want?”

“No, no. I said don’t worry about it.”

The smile that appeared on Viktoria’s face confused Garrett greatly. Were all women this difficult? Reading his strained expression, the woman let out a soft chuckle. “I’m teasing you, Garrett. I’ll take a glass of spiced wine. It’s wonderful on an autumn night like this.”

“...oh.”

He hated paying for her wine, but two glasses and a few pints of ale later, he wasn’t as concerned. Viktoria opened up slightly and was giggling like a schoolgirl.

“I haven’t always been in The City,” she said, thumbing her third glass. “I grew up to the west.”

“The  _ west _ ?” Garrett asked, wrinkling his nose. The alcohol was making it much easier to converse with Viktoria, but they also had a natural chemistry that became apparently early on. “Isn’t that just a forest?”

“On the outside,” Viktoria corrected in an instant. “Just outside of the forest.”

“Weird.”

“It is not weird! It’s where I grew up. I’m sure  _ your  _ childhood was completely normal.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

“And there you go.” Viktoria folded her arms proudly. “I rest my case.”

“Yeah, whatever. I should probably head home now, anyway. I have to get ready for this sword.”

“So soon?”

Viktoria’s face dropped as Garrett stood. She didn’t finish what was left in her glass and got to her feet with him.

“Stop,” Garrett said, pushing her aside softly.

“But, Garrett…why like this, all of the sudden?”

“I have to go.”

Just like that, he was gone. Viktoria stood in the middle of the pub with her arms hanging by her sides, staring at the door where Garrett had passed through.

“Darling,” an older woman’s voice said behind her. It was the barmaid on duty. “He’s an odd fellow.”

“How so?”

“The time you spent with him was the most I’ve ever seen him have with anyone.”

“Is that true?”

“Believe me. I know. I’ve seen what he does.”

“Oh…”

Viktoria looked back at the door. She thought of Garrett as a young man, looking so shocked by her touch. How could he not remember that moment? For her, it was fresh on her mind since they met again. For some reason she really enjoyed being around him. He wasn’t like the other humans she interacted with. He was unique. He was special. He was  _ terribly awkward and difficult _ but perhaps it was his isolation that she loved. After all, since Viktoria was taken away from her adoptive parents in the village, she had known nobody but the Trickster. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
